THEY DID IT!

I'm sitting on the floor of the nearly lifeless Iditarod HQ in Nome; Tim and Colleen are prepping the dogs and cages for the flight to Anchorage this evening, God willing, and we'll all be on the plane together (some sort of combo cargo/passenger plane).

HOW ABOUT THAT TEAM?!?!?!?!??!?! A lonesome fire siren blows off twice when any team is 2 miles out from the finish, so when we heard that I almost threw up; outside a crowd was gathering and before we knew it a squad car flipped it's lights and escorted the team as they turned up onto Front Street from the Bering Sea! I couldn't get NEAR Tim once they stopped under the arch but muscled my way to the dogs and they were rolling on their backs, digging their noses in the snow....talk about a flood of tears...and the whole event illuminated by hundreds of big, colored Christmas lights strung across Front Street from utility pole to utility pole, those too at the mercy of the vicious arctic wind. It was grand.

I haven't asked Tim about his underwear; I noticed he was wearing someone else's long johns when he got to the business of peeling off later that morning, and when inquiries were made regarding such he could offer no explanation. He also told me he smelled creamed corn on the trail and that I should measure my teeth and go to sleep. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

The "dog water" here in Nome is in a very humid, very hot building with huge concrete sinks and valves and pulleys and rollers everywhere - and also the building where the locals bring their "honey buckets" for disposal. I pull my neck warmer over my mouth and nose every time I go in there, but the stench has taken hold, imagined or not. Yech. Tim, on the other hand, can't smell anything in there, and I wonder if he "burnt" something, olfactory wise, on the trail because he says he can't taste anything, either. Maybe a self-preservation/survival mechanism kicked in somewhere along the way, given the pickled muktuc and stink seal flipper offered in the villages and the perfume of his own wardrobe.

By the way, you will never get a whiff of a woodstove or campfire up here; there is no wood to burn. But you will see an alarming amount of crematoriums and houses on stilts - the ground is frozen solid year-round.

More later - we need to get going.

Blunder Alert!

WE MADE A HUGE CALCULATION BLUNDER. It's 3:15 am and Tim is 5 miles out. We're at headquarters. The officials just bellowed, "GET THE RED LANTERN!" and we're about to head out to the arch. YAHOOOOOOOOO!

The photo shows what we've been calling the Arctic thong: long underwear hanging out of snow pants.

Tim left White Mountain around 5:45 and we expect it will take 10 hours to get to Safety; once there, they'll presumably rest for 6 hours and then make the trek to Nome. God willing, we'll see him between 1 and 2 PM Alaska time on Tuesday. Again, I'd like to sincerely thank everyone for their encouragement and support throughout this amazing ordeal; it truly is uplifting and meaningful.

The volcano: nobody's flying anywhere today and the rumor mill is cranking full tilt. The National Forest Service peppered the town a.s.a.p. with flyers encouraging folks to visit their office and watch ice age videos "if you're in town for a few extra days and looking for something to do". In a risky move, I booked our flights out of Nome for Wednesday evening.

Saturday, Colleen and I flew to Nome after a terrific lunch of tea, beer and Zanax. We flew to Kotzebu first, which is in the Arctic Circle - and very, very treeless - and the flight afforded us a spectacular view of the sea ice; nature's shattered windshield on a grand scale. They unloaded case after case of Mug root beer, chest coolers and bananas from the plane; I know - I can't figure it out either. The runway is IMPOSSIBLY short in Kotzebu with a big...hill...at the end of the runway, so needless to say our landing and takeoff was exhilarating to the point of terrifying.

Nome. Beautiful, desolate, wind-swept and so much human vomit on the sidewalks and streets it leaves every fraternity latrine in the dust. Colleen noticed it's particularly dominant outside of the drinking establishments. The townsfolk even haul their spent Christmas trees to the frozen Bering Sea and take bets on when the pile will float away with the breakup. What's not to like? It really is a brilliant, blinding, white and blue landscape, rife with perhaps the heartiest, kindest souls I've met. And a reindeer that rides around in the back of a pickup, wearing an orange collar.

At the Finisher's Banquet Sunday night, Martin Buser joked that if Sebastian Schnuelle had won the race, he would have been pinned down and sheered (see musher photo on website), so it was a blessing Lance won. Then Sebastian got on stage to claim his prize and proclaimed that if he won next year, he WOULD shave his head...then, when it was Lance's turn at the podium, he declared that if he won again next year, HE would shave HIS head. Gloves off!

Okay, we have to grab a bite. More later.

Thar she blows!

Very quick post: Tim's in White Mountain for the last of the mandatory rests. Dogs are eating seconds at every meal and they "became men" in the last few days and Tim says they're shaving now. Even Spots, the female. The team has really jelled over the last few runs and he is STOKED to get to Nome - as is every one else. Unfortunately, after a long, long struggle on the trail Alan Peck has pulled the plug. His sled broke, he had to go back to a checkpoint, more ground blizzards....so Tim is in the Red Lantern district, if you will.

Mount Redoubt, THE VOLCANO, made her voice heard last night near Anchorage and is still hollering and as a result, air space is closed everywhere. I know some mushers flew their handlers and dogs back to Anchorage Sunday while the rest of us were nodding off during the Finisher's Banquet, but that means the rest of us (from the big guns down to the broken arrows), are now just one big, stinky family holed up on the Bering Sea, waiting for a flight. Or a musher. The good news is the chute and the burled arch will be Times Square north on New Year's Eve, what with all the people trapped in Nome and all dressed down with nowhere to go. Literally. What a welcome for the red lantern!

Warren Palfry and Rick Larson, are thoughts and prayers are with you.

Tim is three miles out of Shaktoolik. The next leg (from Shaktoolik to Koyuk) in terms of terrain, is something better left un-thinked, at least by me. Click on the following link if you'd like an official description: http://www.iditarod.com/checkpoints/checkpoint21.html . Needless to say, I will be worried sick until I see his icon at the next checkpoint. Tim is one determined man at this point, with 229 miles left of what some are describing as the most difficult Iditarod to date. His emails from the Unalakleet checkpoint were riddled with mistakes and convoluted, God bless him, but absolutely no indication of jumping ship, so we will see him Sunday night or Monday morning in Nome with a table full of pancakes, scotch and crab legs and a bubble bath; everything he loves. The dogs? Fresh straw, sausages, movies, sleep number beds, deep ear scratches and belly rubs until they're sick of us.

Colleen and I fly to Nome today so we've got to run. I'll try to write more later and hope we have internet capabilities in the hotel lobby at the Golden Nugget

Hang in There, Tim!

Good Day, Y'alls -

Tim is just about to Kaltag and still running with the same gang - safety in numbers - and it looks like Jen Seavey splintered off from the pack and is making a run for the coast - go Jen! I imagine Tim and the rest of the crew rifled through the drop bags left behind at Eagle Island for food and supplies, as nobody thought they'd be on the Yukon this long. They will have fresh supplies once they get to Kaltag, but unless the weather turns they'll have to take previous mushers' dregs to stock up for the next leg, too. What an adventure!

Colleen flew back up Wednesday, and our original plan was to fly to Nome Wednesday and greet Tim Thursday under the burled arch.....but we changed our flights to Saturday, ate lunch at a delicious Korean restaurant instead of peanuts on the plane and now hope we can cut our umbilical cord to the computer and visit some local kennels or watch Belugas in the Cook Inlet. I guess if Tim's been on the Yukon for days in a ground blizzard we can be brave and abandon our hotel room for an afternoon.

Talked to Tim via email from Grayling several times today; he and the rest of the posse (Heather, Jen, Trent, Alan) will get the wagons rolling around 11 PM Alaska time; they wanted to wait 'till 5 AM to leave, but were told to move it along... he doesn't expect to get to Nome before SUNDAY. Fifty nine below wind chill and no hope of a reprieve; I guess Sebastian Schnuelle is looking to wear a snowmobile helmet for the rest of the race to protect his already frostbitten face! Tim said he and Alan are being referred to as "Hunt and Peck". AHAHAHAHHA!

It looks like Lance - wait - everyone's 7 miles out of Grayling on the 60 mile leg to Eagle Island. Here we go. Forget the corned beef and cabbage - it's all pins and needles until they get there. Anyway, it looks like Lance has once again incinerated the trail and will be rolling into Nome Wednesday morning. We (Lance, us) were mutual house guests in Ontario this fall for a symposium and frankly, it was intimidating thinking about it on the drive over. But alas, this guy's the salt of the earth, and in plain terms he's just a goofy, sweet, honest guy, brimming with crazy stories and as modest as a monk. He is also one tenacious man and could be a native Yooper. That's how cool he is, and I don't throw that out there very often.

Side bar: I saw a big ol' bow-legged pickup peel out of the Mug Shot Saloon this afternoon, huge American flag on a stick flapping near the driver's door and a confrontational "Mama Tried" decal on the windshield. Import? Born here? Who knows, but a perfect example of the characters in this land of vanity plates and strip malls. I can't tell you how many people looking for God, gold, guts or glory have told me their migratory tale, wide-eyed, painful; some are at peace, others still searching for some sort of closure in this vast, wild haystack. Grizzled bush pilots, ennui plagued mid-lifers, retired military, hard-boiled waitresses, ski bums with chronic love on the rocks... and a surprising amount of folks from Michigan. Everyone's got a story. People are always waving others on to go first through stop signs, maintain full eye contact without perceived threat and seem to be, well, just darn friendly. If only we could be here in the summer for their rummage sales... not to be all Planet of the Apes about it, but they are a fascinating bunch up this way.

Who Hit the Snooze at HQ?

Our thoughts and prayers go out to Lou Packer and his family; thank God he's been retrieved and God bless the four leggeds who are no longer with him. And to Blake and Kim and your teams, job well done - we're glad you're safe.

Thank you, volunteers, for all you do to make the trail and teams safe at the behest of those in charge. It's long nights and little thanks for you guys, too.



A terrifying, tragic situation developed Monday on the barren trail between Iditarod and Shageluk, and this is what I know: the wind kicked up a "ground blizzard" and obliterated the trail. Lou, Blake Matray and Kim Darst were on the trail, trapped in the mire. Lou's GPS indicated nearly 24 hours of inactivity on the trail or activity so slight it indicated Lou was walking in front of the team; concerned, Lou's wife asked Iditarod officials to check on him. Only then did they send out rescue teams and discover the tragedy. Two of Lou's dogs died. He sent out his team with the first rescue plane sent, then chose to wait for the second plane to extract himself; Kim and Blake were escorted by snowmachines to safety.

Sigh. There were 67 teams signed up for this race; 58 remain. Everybody paid the same entry fee. Everybody has a GPS. Nobody's spouse should have to make a phone call from home to alert Iditarod officials to a possible tragedy like this. My knee-jerk reaction? The motive for the GPS was a warm, fuzzy publicity stunt and fund raiser. Iditarod Insider, anyone?

Tim's in and out of Anvik already and on his way up the Yukon River (130 miles) via Grayling and Eagle Island, then onward to Kaltag; Grayling will be the last village they see until they're done with the Yukon in Kaltag. Seems pretty lonely to me, especially since the half-way point is just a guy's camp on Eagle Island -but I cut-and-pasted images of my head on swimsuit and lingerie models, even me waving goodbye and stepping onto Air Force One with George Bush, and tucked them into Tim's drop bags to take the edge of these long, long runs. He'll need a laugh. I also know that of all the drop bags at Eagle Island, crows picked open Tim's and ate the Momentum kibble (which says a lot about the food and sophisticated palate of the crow, I might add). By the way, crows here go a good solid 30 pounds, bark, and, like the muskox, snarl like Dick Cheney.

It's supposed to be bitter, bitter cold for the next week, with wind chills of 50 below or more. It will be interesting to see how teams fare as the weather raises the bar; keeping weight on the dogs will be difficult, but do-able. And speaking of weight...

Stop the madness with the restaurants in Wasilla, already! Tonight it was moussaka: layers of eggplant, potato and ground beef in a slightly cinnamon-ish tomato sauce, topped with Bechamel sauce and baked. Come on! Mediterranean halibut with Greek Spaghetti, Pad Thai, halibut BLTs, XR burritos, paninis... And if that's not enough, listen to the picnic Helen Lundberg packed and spread out on a reindeer hide for the restart in Willow: moose burgers with Havarti on homemade sesame seed buns, homemade pickles, homemade (and I mean the mayonnaise part, too) curry aoli, chile drumsticks, glug, coffee and brownies. Perfectly fitting fare for the restart of the Iditarod. Not so good for high cholesterol.

Tim and the dogs are eating well on the trail, too; kibble, salmon, beaver, turkey skins, tripe, and the dogs like..... Here's the routine for meals: Tim will get water or snow boiling in his big cooker, drop in a vacuum sealed meal, then prep the kibble and meat for the team while his meal cooks. When his meal is done, he pours the boiling water over the dogs' dry stew and voila, searches in vain for a utensil for himself. Very thrifty use of time, energy and water. All right. It's getting late. Tim's 5 miles out of Grayling, and I imagine they'll hunker down for a while before heading out. Good night.

Day Nine

Good Morning!

Tim's between Shageluk and Anvik with 12 dogs. When I talked to him during his 24 hour rest he said he might drop More Spots due to a possible shoulder issue, but he always thinks the dogs have shoulder issues and then the next day they're on the uneven parallel bars. Notice I said shoulder issue, not injury. It's far, far better to drop a dog with an issue before it escalates into an injury, rendering the dog susceptible to chronic problems thereafter. Of course there's injuries that occur due to unpredictable accidents, but if Tim sees something brewing, game over.

Tim and team have been on the trail for over a week now and possibly another week yet to go with no underwear, no internet, and one hell of a daily commute, so I'd like to give a great big thanks to all the folks who've sent encouraging messages, thoughts and comments; I pass them along as I'm able and I know Tim appreciates the support and interest that began months ago in this odysee.

PS - I'll be enjoying a delicious lunch of crow today, as I really can see Sarah Palin's house from here...

Half Way and Half Full

As of midnight Alaska time on Saturday night, Tim's about 10 miles from the ghost town of Iditarod, the half-way point. Wow. There's an unconfirmed rumor that there are only 3 other people in the race, besides Tim, with year-round, full time "other" jobs; and considering that Tim works at least 50 hours per week as a veterinarian (not including Dr. Tim's Pet Food Company) and we've never had a handler, it's nothing short of a miracle that he's been able to train up a team to do this. In a way, the most taxing part of the battle has already been fought and won in Sundell , training out of our own back yard; but in all honestly, the truly draining aspect of this race is happening right now on the trail, and it's the musher trying not to become a casualty of his or her own mental land mines. It happens to most everyone and you either work through it or scratch. Period. And at the end of the day, it doesn't matter where they finish as getting to this point alone is victory enough.

On a completely different note, we ate such an insanely delicious, filling Mexican lunch in Wasilla Thursday that Tom was referring to our fare later that evening as "extended release burritos"; we've also had Thai and Greek (both delicious) and could effortlessly eat our way around the world between Wasilla and Anchorage. The variety in the grocery stores is boggling, too; old-timey commodities in stitched-up sacks, organic lemongrass, waxy boxes of black-strap molasses next to Boar's Head Serrano Ham - a real Drucker's Whole Foods - and a Russian grocery store (Wasilla has been "vahsZEEEELeh" ever since) where I bought the most curious cookies: minty, moldy, breathtaking, expensive...really expensive... and chocolate bars with a creepy, overgrown baby on the wrapper. It's a good life.

PS - just checked again and they're in Iditarod.

Bon Appetit!

Quick update before I pick up the dog trailer after getting it fixed after I broke the lights on it: Tim's taking his 24 in Takotna and says Eleanor is such a....ahem.....shrew as she's coming into heat that he chose to leave her behind [insert inappropriate pun here] and has had two great runs since; he'd been referring to her as Lil' Mary and I would laugh harder if it wasn't so true. I think I've mentioned before that pre-race tension brings out the worst in us, and my mind wanders to the fierce, battling muskox we saw last week, running full-tilt at each other with Flintstone hair-do horns and Dick Cheney snarls...

Evidently, Tim's picked up a parasite on the trail, too, based on what he's told me he's eaten in the short time he's been in Takotna: french toast, pancakes, pies, hamburgers, sandwiches, steaks and, evidently, he's been running two exact teams side-by-side, stores have lined the trail and a radio's been playing. Nothing a little sleep can't erase. I guess the trail's a little wet, but no big whoop and the dogs are eating like champs, too. Okay. Gotta pick up the trailer. More later.

Quick post: Tim's out of McGrath and on to Tokatna, and apparently left Eleanor behind. He called and left a message while I was dropping Tom and Emily at the airport and his voice was pretty scratchy - must be all the cigareets and whuskey on the trail - but left no details
regarding Eleanor. Kind of suprising, as she's the go-to dog along with her brother, Mr. Kite (yes, it was a Beatles themed litter). None the less, he said everyone's upbeat and in good spirits.
And what a suprise the Norwegian scratched! I read at the Millenium Hotel today that he was injured on the way to Anchorage for evaluation; that's a shame, really, and I hope it's nothing too serious.

Penny and Scatman, sittin' in a tree...r-e-s-t-i-n-g

The scoop: Penny (f) and Scatman (m) dropped due to shoulder issues; they may have been playing hookie, as they are fine now and resting comfortably in the rather mild Alaskan climate; but better safe than sorry. And dear Sadie, I apologize for accusing you of subconscious strumpet-ry.

It's snowing on the interior and I don't know why an array of veterans and rookies (including Tim) are holed up at mile 241, just outside of Nikolai...weather, seance, Dick's Sporting Goods; anything's possible. What I do know is the bullet trains up front are paving the way, literally, for the little engines that will at the back of the pack; if it is deep snow, we ain't scayrt- it's what we train in - and for once let's hang back and let someone else shovel off the porch.

Our sincerest sympathies to Jeff Holt; God bless you, Victor.

Tim's actually in Rohn right now, according to the Iditarod Insider, despite what the current standings state. It looks like another dog has been dropped, too, and we all have a different take on it this time; logically, it's probably another amorous little girl, but we won't know until we pick him/her up.

Folks think it might be an advantage to have a dog in heat at the front of the team, because the males will run like hell to catch up to her...but what usually happens is the female will stop, give everyone behind her the over-the-shoulder Paris Hilton look and high-tail it (literally)for the males in wheel. And males up front don't work in this situation because THEY ARE ALWAYS AWARE THE FEMALE IS BACK THERE AND WILL TURN THE TEAM AROUND TO FIND HER. Tim's said he's even heard of a dog breaking through a plate glass window to pursue a romantic interest. In any event, that's our take on the latest dog out of the loop; possibly a love sick male who doesn't want to eat, but more than likely it's a female.

On a completely different note, Tom, Emily and I headed south down Highway 1 to Girdwood and along Turnagain Arm; a fjord, of all things. Blocks of ice as big as picnic tables that can't keep up with the tide lay like bowling pins on the dark grey mud flats, menacing, surreal...I've read people walk out on the flats to get a good shot and get stuck in the silt. Then the tide comes in....

Anyway, Girdwood is one of those ski resort towns where everybody is smiling and patient, some on the verge of dreds, living on love and tips and sugar snow (with speculation that the E.R. treats a lot of broken legs and chlamydia). It's also home to the Double Musky Restaurant, rated one of the top ten eateries in the entire United States and boy, were we stuffed when we left. The eclectic, cluttered ambiance coupled with the Cajun themed fare was spectacular, despite it's suspicious moniker. Two thumbs up. We also visited the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center (two thumbs up on that, too) and some glaciers, but it was cloudy (angry fists).

Okay; time for bed after one last check of the current standings; hopefully more useful information tomorrow.

On Your Mark, Get Set...is that Sarah Palin?

First off, I have to say that Sarah Palin has terrific skin, and I'm a registered Democrat. She was at the ceremonial start in downtown Anchorage Saturday, as cute as a button and walking around with a couple of state troopers, winking and waving in the sunshine, and now the local Palin stuff is 70% off. Tom commented that she's just another lady with expensive sunglasses, which is true, but what he failed to take into account is that she's just another lady with a striking cut and color.



As far as the race goes (and I know I've been negligent with the posts on this), Tim is in Finger Lake with 15 dogs, the third checkpoint. They'll be taking their rests a mile or two beyond the checkpoints so the dogs don't habituate to the idea of checkpoint = rest. What's wrong with resting in a checkpoint? Nothing, but it's noisy noisy noisy and the theory is that the better everybody rests the better the runs will be, and it's just not a good idea to Pavlovian the dogs to a checkpoint proper. It's best if Tim decides where they rest, not the dogs. We don't know who was dropped, but we're taking bets it's Sadie, our teensiest dog. Heart of gold, shiny coat, itching for a boyfriend.

Tom's (Mary's son) edit:
I thought I'd pass along a quick story about sleep deprivation. After we picked Tim up from the ceremonial start we were all ragged; we had been outside for two days constantly lifting up and putting down dogs, hauling buckets of water down flights of stairs, and hoping the wind would avoid us if we just sat still enough. Tim, on top of this, was a nervous wreck on account of his efforts not to be a nervous wreck. None the less, when we finished the ceremonial start, somehow Tim ended up with the keys to the truck as we headed back into town. Since we hit Anchorage I had been doing the majority of the navigating and so it made little sense for Tim, who was currently maintaining by a razor-thin margin, to be snaking his way through a town defined by one-ways and shifting street names. In the name of full disclosure, my jetlag-addled brain was in no mood for patient hand-holding with our star musher. As I sat in the passenger street with a map, simple miscommunication escalated to the point of full-on stand off:

Tim: Which way are we heading?
Tom: Well, where are we headed?
Tim: Again, which way are we heading?
Tom: Right now? East.
Tim: Ok. And if I turn left, where does that go?
Tom: North.
Tim: Ok. And what's to the north?
Tom: It depends where we're going.
Tim: What is north??
Tom: Left is north. If you want to go north, go left.
Tim: Do we want to go north?
Tom: I don't know. Where do you want to go right now?
Tim: DO I GO LEFT OR NOT...?
Tom: I DON'T KNOW. WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Tim: I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOING.
Tom: THEN I DON'T KNOW IF WE NEED TO TURN LEFT.

After the whistle was blown, Tim was penalized for not making it clear that he wanted to go back to the hotel; I was tagged for being a smart-ass in a high stress situation. We also agreed that Tim was done driving for the next few days unless it was behind a dog team.

Nonsense after the Start!

Finally, we're sitting in the hotel room (sans Tim), weak as kittens, trying to order dinner and flipping between Mexican, Chinese or the Doritos left in the truck. And it appears we're getting a team hot-n-sour and a lot of lo mein. We've spent the day avoiding wind, squinting, and dodging the questions of men with long gray hair and expensive cowboy hats who we've nicknamed "Durangos." These men, who look like western Ted Nugents after an intensive bout with charm school, are to be avoided at all costs for no other reason than one or the other of us said their hair was attached to their hats and we would bust out laughing when one went by.

My son Tom and his wife Emily flew into Anchorage EARLY Friday morning and sleep has been sketchy ever since, except for Tim, who continued with the narcolepsy; who knew the preparation for the start would be so exhausting? Just dropping, feeding, and navigating Anchorage for last minute items has taken it's toll, and all kidding aside, I heard the Cymbalta theme song in the hotel lobby as I slogged out to the truck for the umpteenth time, chapped and miserable. Nevermind that Tim lost his wallet (found it), had misplaced critical phone numbers, couldn't find his favorite balaclava, packed and repacked and unpacked and packed his sled 20 times and so on; frankly, it's been a big, giant pregnancy, compete with birth on a frozen lake and thousands of people watching. And now the baby is headed toward the Arctic Circle.

We left Wasilla early this morning and drove straight to the Millennium Hotel in Anchorage over the most dangerous roads of the trip thus far, believe it or not. Tim had mandatory musher meetings for most of the day, so Colleen and I took advantage of the down time and slept HARD on the couches in the hotel lobby, despite the non-stop parade of Iditafans shuffling and shouting their way to and through the merchandise kiosks. We all need a really solid, deep sleep at this point, but it won't happen until after the restart on Sunday in Willow. Unfortunately, Tim won't have a good night's rest for possibly another two weeks, but that's what he signed up for. Personally, if I don't get 20-30 hours of sleep per day I'm nauseous, which reminds me of a dog race years ago: we watched a man struggle for 30 minutes to lace up and tie his boots, and he could only do it while looking in a mirror. I don't know why we didn't offer to help him; probably sleep deprived ourselves. Finally, his wife came over and did up his boots, tied his hat under his chin and sent him out the door. Sleep. It does a body good.

Of course the biggest event today was the banquet, which I hear people dread because it goes on for hours and hours and hours. But they did things differently this year and within a few hours it was over and done with. The place was packed, the food was good and some of those big guns were a lot shorter than I expected, like the classic Mick Jagger height disillusionment phenomenon.

Tim drew bib number 64 and is giving it a big, chapped thumbs up; word on the street is the trail is chock-full of snow and will be S-L-O-W this year, but with 63 teams out of the chute before him, leaving towards the end of the pack may prove to be advantageous.

Weeping Willow

Wednesday morning we hit the ground running (despite champagne and wine) after a very entertaining evening at Helen Lundberg and Egil Ellis' house for dinner, and what a dinner it was: course after course of luscious, earthy fare on the candle-lit table, even a cheese course, and loads of stories from these very accomplished Scandinavian sprint mushers. The rare moose Helen served with a velvety cream sauce and the hand-picked wild mushroom and potato gratin were out of this world, as was the entire meal. We were still talking about it this morning on the drive to Willow, where Tim and Colleen ran the dogs for the last time before the race. Tim's nerves are palpable at times, he's given up shaving and is suffering from preparatory narcolepsy; I think it's time we got this party started.

I Can See Sarah Palin's House From Here!

...not really; nor can I see Russia - but I do see lovely Lake Lucille from our "Best Western Wasilla" window, where we'll be holed up for the next few days. What a town! Breathtaking, picturesque, cozy, and yet an undertone of rugged can-do, like an exotic princess in a ball gown with a mustache. Or goatee... maybe a welding helmet. In any event, there are so many coffee shops here in Wasilla it's comical; Peek-A-Brew, Mocha-Me-Crazy, Jitters, The Blueberry Moose, even The Caffeinated Wolf; who goes to the Caffeinated Wolf for coffee? Someone on the way to Granny's house? Jumpy, whistling Casanovas? We'll probably be there tomorrow.

Tim and Colleen are running two eight dog teams out of Willow tonight, and our vet check earlier today went off without a hitch. Some dogs were a bundle of nerves, but Sadie actually fell asleep during her EKG! As far as the race goes, there's not a whole lot to report yet... but we did pick up our banquet tickets at the Official Iditarod Headquarters and Museum, where it hit me full-blast what the true spirit of the Iditarod Trail is for this reason; preserved and on display behind a beautifully lit glass case was little Togo, one of the lead dogs on the serum run. That forty pound dog ran and ran and ran and ran without booties or veterinarians or technology or Cabela's and saved lives; a far cry from the sometimes circus-like atmosphere of today's Iditarod.